Look, I know I gush about Cape Town a lot. And I know it’s all, like, uncool, to gush about Cape Town, because, like, it’s so chocolate box. But stuff that. I’m all chocolate box today. I think I’m a little in love with my city. And that means I can gush. A lot. In nauseating amounts. Ok?
Right. With that out of the way.
Friday night; divey local pub. Great, undiscovered chef. Fab company. Hilarious barman doing a “Boy George” impression with one lone braid sticky-taped to his bald head. Lots of beer. Odd, Observatory-type people. Bliss.
Saturday morning; run along the Seapoint promenade. Sea air, gulls, little old men holding the hands of little old ladies. Dogs wagging. Me able to wobble just a little bit further than normal. Getting freckled in the winter sun.
Afternoon; Braai. Serbians, Germans, South Africans, Americans. More beer. Some decadent German potato salad and something called “Appletizer Cream”. Girlfriends squawking with laughter and silliness. Hugs filled with “I know, we don’t have to talk about it.” A gorgeous sunset. A mountain silhouetted against the twilight sky. Stars everywhere.
Sunday; lazy, deeply lazy morning. A solo movie (different to the accompanied kind). Dark, with the smell of popcorn. Driving home through the avenues of trees. An afternoon of couch, book and open doors; open to the corners of mountains and the glimpses of skies. Listening to street noises and Sunday gatherings. The ringing of church bells. The sms’es of far flung friends.
This morning; mist. Biting chill. But enough sunrise to caste the sea with copper. And the city rising, unwoken.
It just don’t get better.